your fiery air
by organicgold
Summary: Wright said, "I am going to give you another life." Actual phoenix!Phoenix AU.
1. trying for years to flee

_I would like to thank my friends for giving me the spark I needed to finally sit down and write this. I am so grateful for all your kindnesses._  
 _The lyrics used in the titles are from Purity Ring's Begin Again, from their album Another Eternity._  
 _I'd also like to thank the Guns N' Roses version of Live and Let Die for inspiring the original idea for this, way back in my sophomore year of college._

* * *

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had earned a reputation. It wasn't one to be happy with, but secretly, it was one he was proud to bear. He alone was capable of carrying the truest, darkest weight of his profession when no one else was. Why wouldn't a man be at least a little proud of that?

The county detectives had noticed this about Prosecutor Edgeworth by the second year of his appointment. He could accept their most horrific and disturbing cases without so much as a flinch. He could investigate and prosecute them, unwavering, until their brutal, often fatal, end. He was a level apart from the other prosecutors who dispensed their justice as gears in the aging, cumbersome machine of the criminal justice system. Prosecutor Edgeworth made his daily bread on the fates of the living and the dying.

On this particular afternoon, the prosecutor had an appointment for a new case briefing at 11. Right on time, the two detectives knocked on his office door. Most prosecutors would either leave their office door open if they were expecting someone, or open the door themselves.

"Come in," the prosecutor called from his desk. As the team entered, Prosecutor Edgeworth could immediately tell which one was whom upon a first glance. The taller, younger one with black hair had opened the door, and shut it behind him. "Good afternoon, Prosecutor Edgeworth," he greeted. The other man in the pair, an older man with blue eyes and a tanned face, started at the hard-hearted Los Angeles County Deputy District Attorney he'd only heard stories about.

Prosecutor Edgeworth smirked, and stood as they approached his desk. "Good morning, Detective Wei," he said, shaking the younger man's hand, "Detective Clark," and shook the older man's hand. Long used to the subtle tricks of detectives, he saw that Detective Clark was trying to take in his office without him noticing.

"How are you finding life on the force, Detective?" asked Edgeworth, letting go of his hand.

"Um, its agreeing with me just fine," said the shorter man, adeptly hiding his surprise. "It's only been-"

"You've been a detective with us for three months, yes," Edgeworth said. "I'm certain Detective Wei has been an exemplary partner, helping you learn the ropes." Detective Wei looked up briefly from setting out their documents, and smiled.

"Yes, he has," Detective Clark answered, the slightest consternation entering his voice.

"Los Angeles must be quite pleasant after a career in D.C.," said Edgeworth. Finished with his set up, Detective Wei indicated that they should sit down.

Detective Clark grunted an affirmative as they took their seats.

"I'll go ahead and start the recording, detectives," Edgeworth said, and pressed the button on an ambient microphone embedded in his desk.

"Thank you, sir," said Detective Wei. "This is case 2015-002137. Present are myself, Detective Cheng Wei, Detective Richard Clark, and Deputy D.A. Miles Edgeworth. Several months ago, the LAPD received a 911 call reporting that the witness had seen a male burning a victim alive."

Edgeworth could feel Detective Clark's eyes on him, but he had no more time to waste on displays of power. "I'm going to stop you for a moment, Detective Wei," he said, raising a hand. "Your choice of words is interesting to me: 'burning another man alive'. What made you say that? Why not 'setting fire to the victim'?"

Detective Wei handed him a copy of the 911 call transcript. "Because those were the words of the witness, both when she called and when she gave her report."

Edgeworth glanced over the transcript and saw that it was indeed true. He also saw some details which made him raise his eyebrows. "'No, there's nothing in his hands'?" he read aloud.

Detective Clark handed him a copy of the police report, which Edgeworth took in his other hand. This he read more thoroughly, and when he was done, looked up. "I sincerely hope this is not a joke, detectives."

Gravely, Detective Wei shook his head. "No. It's not. Here is the photo of the remains the officer referred to." Detective Clark indicated an open folder on the desk, which showed several crime scene photos and laboratory tests confirming the data behind them. Edgeworth set down the reports and picked up the open folder in both hands.

"This is merely a pile of ash," he said shortly, and flipped through the laboratory results. "It should be impossible to achieve that high a temperature outside of cremation."

"You'll find the report confirms they are human remains, and that the window in which the burning occurred matches the time the witness reported," said Detective Clark.

Edgeworth shook his head. "Detective Wei, I respect your work on the force, but I cannot prosecute this. It's a dead end. There is no information to work with."

Detective Wei smiled, and glanced at his partner. "With similar respect, Prosecutor, I haven't finished yet." He teased out a slightly thicker file from the pile. "When Clark and I were assigned to this case, we thought much the same thing. But we discovered identical cases occurring in LA, all taking place every so often, over a period of ten years."

He took the folder and flipped through it. "'Every so often'?"

"Yes," said Detective Clark. "Never a consistent amount of time in between, but rarely less than three months."

"And all over the city?"

"And the county. There are a total of 21 incidents that match."

Edgeworth shut the folder and tossed it back on the desk. "Tell me more."

"The reports of these cases all match the one from several months ago. The report of burning, the male suspect, and the only evidence the pile of human ashes." Detective Clark handed him a three-ring binder. "But while we were investigating other matters, a huge bit of luck dropped in to our laps. A witness heard a commotion in the alley behind his house, and took a video. We were able to get a warrant for the video, and had it analyzed. Here are the stills from that video."

Edgeworth flipped through the pages of relevant stills, which were set in chronological order. The video itself was on a CD in a case inserted in the binder's front pocket. He studied each frame.

The video had been shot from what looked like a second story of a house. Although the timestamp showed it was early in the morning, and the video had been shot through a solar screen which forced the camera in and out of focus, the two figures were reasonably clear in the yellow light of the alley.

The prosecutor followed as one man, wearing all black, approached an older woman. They stared at each other for some moments, and then the man approached. The woman watched him as he slowly, almost unwillingly, raised his left arm to place his hand on top of her head.

Instantly—Edgeworth checked the timestamp, fractions of a second later—a white inferno exploded from where the woman had been standing. It was so bright that the camera's picture blurred into incoherency, then pure white, then reformed to show the man standing alone, hand still outstretched, and a small mound of ash directly below it at his feet.

"Was there any sound?" Edgeworth asked quietly.

"The analysts compared it to a lightning strike or an explosion with a high yield. Although it was most similar to lightning, it wasn't a match either. They had never seen anything like it," said Detective Clark. There was a note of anticipation in his voice. Edgeworth's eyes flickered up to the detectives, and back.

"Was there something important you wanted to tell me?"

"You'll see in the conclusion of the video that we were able to make an 85% identification for this suspect," Detective Wei said.

"Mmm." Edgeworth continued. The man stayed in place, then seemed to clutch his arms, as if he were shivering violently. "Was he injured by this…action at all?"

"Not from what we can gather from the video."

The prosecutor continued on. The man in the video turned away from the witness, then suddenly back, facing him entirely. Detective Clark began to explain, but the prosecutor cut him off with a wave of the other hand. "I'll hear whatever the witness said when I watch the video." He turned the page, and froze.

On the two-page spread was the frame of the video in which the suspect's face was clear, an enlargement of his body, and an enlargement of his face to match the size of the photo of the man's face in the folder Detective Wei smoothly handed over. Edgeworth opened it, and saw a face he thought he would never see again.

"We have reason to believe the suspect is a man named Phoenix Wright," Detective Wei said formally. Miles felt his breath stop in his throat.

He looked back to the stills, and turned the page. There were two frames on the page. In the top one, Wright was there, almost comically shocked. In the next frame, a fraction of a second later, he had disappeared.

"Thank you for your work, detectives," he said, the words coming easier as he said them. "I will take the case."


	2. begin again

Prosecutor Edgeworth began around-the-clock surveillance on Phoenix Wright by the next morning. He knew it was hardly practical to have surveillance on such an infrequent criminal, but justified the expense with the certainty of the detectives' report identification and by the extreme nature of the case.

 _Your Honor, this man is a serial murderer, who I will most likely be indicting on 23 counts of aggravated first-degree homicide,_ he'd said that past evening as he got his warrant. _I do not wish for that number to climb to 24._

This morning, he was back behind his desk, looking through the detectives' files again. He was trying to review the past cases to find new connections, but his eyes kept drifting to the information file on Phoenix Wright. _What's wrong with you?_ he admonished himself mentally. _You are here to do your job. He is a stranger to you. A stranger._

To punish himself, he forced his attention through a review of all the materials but Wright's profile. Once he'd started, it went smoothly—Prosecutor Edgeworth's powers of will and focus were unrivaled in the D.A.'s office. Throughout his review, he received updates from the surveillance team through short, secure emails.

 _S is going to work._

 _S is going to lunch at the café on 24_ _th_ _and West, accompanied by supervisor._

 _S has returned to work._

 _S is leaving work and taking a different bus than this morning. Will update._

 _S took the bus to UCLA and is walking onto campus. Will update._

 _S is meeting with known associate Butz. Will update._

Edgeworth took the stab of recognition he felt without blinking. It was 7 p.m., and he'd been reviewing the case since he'd sat down at 8 a.m.. Now, it was time to look through Wright's—the suspect's—information file. But first, he cleaned up the Chinese takeout he'd ordered for dinner and took it out into the hallway to throw away. The 12th floor was as silent and still at 7 as it was at 3 in the morning. He looked up and down the hallway, then went into the bathroom to wash his hands.

When he was done, he straightened up and looked at himself in the glossy mirror. His gaze darted away from its own reflection to his hair, which he neatened, and his jabot, which he tugged into place. He brushed off his jacket sleeves, and looked at himself in the mirror again.

 _Yes, that's it._

He returned to yet another email back at his desk. It read, _S and Butz have entered a nearby bar._

Edgeworth scooped up the information file and settled back with a sigh. _Drinking at a college bar on a Friday night? How childish._

He took in each detail carefully, evaluating himself for any reaction and storing the facts impartially in his memory once they had passed inspection. Yet he allowed himself a chuckle of disbelief when he read OCCUPATION: LAW STUDENT. _Good luck with that after I'm through with you._

/

Prosecutor Edgeworth's surveillance paid off. He got the call from Detective Gumshoe three months after starting, on a rainy January afternoon.

"Boss," he said from across the valley near Griffith Park. "The suspect's been following this guy in a car for hours, on a bike no less. What should we do?"

"Stay close," Edgeworth responded at once. "I have a feeling he's chosen his next victim. And, Detective…" he trailed off, attempting to evaluate the reason he would utter his next words. _Curiosity, most likely._

"Yes?"

"Keep me updated on the situation. I'm going to take a squad car out to witness the arrest." Edgeworth stood, and began cleaning up the surveillance notes from the past three months on his desk.

"Boss! Are you sure you—"

"I'll see you in about 30 minutes, Detective Gumshoe," he said, and hung up. He stacked the surveillance notes on Phoenix Wright—the _suspect_ —in chronological order. The suspect's life was a metaphorical merry-go-round of innocuous, inane activity—work, lunch, home, shopping, the weekly visit with his friend, work. In three months, he hadn't done anything more wild or expensive than visit Chinatown with his only friend.

The suspect was leading a normal, if lonely, life, and yet it was probable that he had killed 23 people for no reason at all. _Something doesn't add up. I need as much information as I can get, and regrettably, that includes information from the suspect._

 _Careful,_ _Edgeworth,_ he heard in his mentor's voice. His neck and shoulders tensed, drawing him to stand up straight. _If you let this slip from your control even a little, there will be hell to pay. Don't disgrace yourself._

Prosecutor Edgeworth put on his black wool coat, and called dispatch.

/

Thirty minutes later, Prosecutor Edgeworth was climbing out of the patrol car and into a damp, misty rain on Western Canyon Road.

"I have some bad news and some good news, boss," Gumshoe said as Edgeworth approached.

The prosecutor fixed him with a glare strong enough to make the other man look away. "What?"

"The—um, I'll start with the bad news." Detective Gumshoe swallowed tightly. "The surveillance spooked him. He noticed us, and went off course. I had to call off most of the team, or we could have lost him."

Edgeworth felt his fists tighten in his coat pockets. "You didn't think it necessary to clear this maneuver with me first?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't have a choice. Uh, however, I only cut the team down to four, and sent the others to possible points of egress. That's four now, including you and me, sir."

Knowing well and rationally that his frustration was pointless at this stage, Edgeworth stared at the dim afternoon sky gathering around them. "And the good news?"

"These." Edgeworth turned back, and saw Gumshoe holding out a police-issue flashlight, a collapsed baton, a pistol, and a police-issue radio. Gumshoe smiled nervously. "You're going to be safe with me, sir."

"Evidently," he snapped, and took three of the objects while eyeing the Glock distastefully. "That won't be necessary for me, Detective, thank you. I don't want to accidentally shoot—" His teeth clamped around the end of that sentence and his mind went blank with violent, blissful ease.

Gumshoe didn't seem to notice, and holstered the gun next to his own. "Good thinking, sir."

"Yes," he mumbled, distracting himself by familiarizing himself with the flashlight. "Now then, were you going to brief me on the situation anytime soon?"

The detective updated him on the past 15 minutes as they walked up the road. The suspect had followed the driver of the car up Western Canyon Road. When the driver had reached a campsite, the suspect had dismounted his bike and, according to the officer, stared straight at her through her cover. He'd then turned and began walking into the trees, off the path, deliberately sidestepping another officer's cover as he went. Gumshoe had made the decision then, reducing the team to three, and recalling the other two to the campsite, betting that Wright would return to the potential victim. And he had been right.

They fell silent as they climbed a steep, low hill overlooking the campsite. Gumshoe knelt down on the damp ground, and Edgeworth followed suit. Quietly, the detective radioed in, and although he couldn't make out their coded statements, the prosecutor heard two equally quiet and calm responses. Then, almost as if on cue, he saw a small movement in the corner of his eye. A composed voice spoke over the radio.

"They've got eyes on, sir," Gumshoe said, and pulled a pair of binoculars from his coat to look. With a flicker of his eyes, Edgeworth followed the sight of the binoculars to the area he'd seen the movement.

"I see him," said the prosecutor, voice low. He held out his left hand for the binoculars, and when he got them, looked through the brush on the hill crest before him. There in the fading light was Phoenix Wright's face, drawn, and alert.

Detective Gumshoe accepted the binoculars when he handed them back. "What do you think, sir?"

 _That face…_ Edgeworth's fingers creaked in their fists. "Wait. But close in, if possible." His eyes swept the campsite as Gumshoe relayed the order. The victim's car was parked and silent. Its trunk was open, and a cooler sat on the wet dirt next to a half-removed tent. The driver of the car was nowhere to be seen.

"The driver?" Edgeworth prompted.

"Missing since Wright went off course," Gumshoe answered. "He went in the opposite direction, to the flush toilets, but hasn't returned for…" he checked the time on his radio, "…thirty-six minutes."

"I see."

The two fell silent, watching the empty campground, motionless but for slight waves in the damp air. The prosecutor could see the movement of Gumshoe's face, scanning regularly, from the edge of his vision, but Edgeworth's attention was focused on Wright. The suspect stood with hands in the pockets of his blue windbreaker, and completely still. _Can it be that this is the same person I knew as a child? The same old friend?_ The baton in his lap pressed hard against his ribs. _This man will be arrested under my authority tonight, regardless of his violence. And once he's in custody… When I can question him, I—_

"Sir, the driver is returning," Gumshoe said, soft and urgent. "What should we do?"

Edgeworth raised the radio and spoke into it. "This is the prosecuting attorney. I am aware that I do not have direct authority to give you orders, but this is my request. If the suspect threatens the driver at all, I request that you incapacitate him, but no more." The other team members radioed their agreement, and beside him, Gumshoe nodded. Then, the driver reached the center of the campsite. Edgeworth could see the whites of his eyes. _He's terrified. He knows—_

Immediately, Wright— _the suspect_ —moved from his hiding place and toward the driver. The driver spun, saw him coming, and froze in place. Wright drew his left hand from his jacket pocket. There was nothing in it, but he advanced all the same.

Edgeworth raised the radio to his face again and stood, drawing breath to give the order, but it was too late. As Wright's hand overstretched the man's head, a pistol shot broke the silence. A bullet tore across Wright's shoulder and he cried out, turned toward the shooter—

Edgeworth threw an arm around Gumshoe's neck and forced his head down, shielding both their eyes from the searing explosion that followed. He could see the light, pink through his eyelids, and feel the heat wash over his exposed head and neck. It only took a moment for Detective Gumshoe's instincts to take over, and he handily got the prosecutor down low to the ground and shielded him with his body. Edgeworth struggled out from under his protective shoulders-Gumshoe might have been saying something, he couldn't hear anything—and looked down into the campsite.

Phoenix Wright stood there at the center, arms clutched around himself, looking about for the shooter, unburned, and a mound of ash at his feet.

Prosecutor Edgeworth climbed to the other side of the hill crest, though he wasn't sure why. He felt Detective Gumshoe's strong hands try to take his shoulders, and without turning ducked out from under them to step closer to Wright. The man in the clearing noticed the motion, and looked up to him.

Wright's expression was one of terrified bewilderment and horror. It stunned Miles in his place—until Wright turned and ran.

Edgeworth's body responded faster than his mind. He skidded down the damp hillside and tore across the campsite into the trees. Far ahead of him, but not too far to catch, Wright sprinted recklessly though the dim wilderness. _His shoulder doesn't seem to be bothering him_ , his brain offered as he followed. His left hand gripped the flashlight, but he didn't turn it on yet. Something, an absolute assuredness that forced his attention _forward_ , kept his arms pumping and feet flying through the messy underbrush. In fits and starts, Edgeworth began to close the distance.

As his hearing returned, Edgeworth could hear Gumshoe crashing along behind. The detective tried to come up beside him but the trees and bushes were too close together. Dimly, Edgeworth saw a clearing coming up ahead, and reached deep for a burst of power to overtake Wright before he could gain too much speed.

Once Wright burst into the clearing, he turned so sharply left along its edge that Edgeworth's head ached sympathetically. Wright ran—and disappeared.

Edgeworth began to slow, lungs and throat burning, but Gumshoe charged past. "I'll find him!" the detective shouted, following along the trajectory Wright would have continued on.

Too out of breath to respond, Edgeworth focused on his cool down breathing routine which he used after workouts. He scanned the clearing and its silent periphery.

A certainty precipitated in the heavy air. _He's hiding somewhere._

Edgeworth breathed as deeply and silently as possible, and advanced along the clearing's edge to the spot Wright had disappeared from. His footfalls were muffled by the wet earth. Once he reached the edge of the trees, he stopped, standing still once again, and looked among the bushes. Seeing nothing— _yet_ —he studied the ground for any irregularity.

 _There?_ It was a smear in the otherwise undisturbed distribution of January's dead leaves and grass. Edgeworth looked up from it into the trees beyond, and very small in his temporarily traumatized hearing, he could make out frantic, gasping breaths. He looked closer.

Wright was there watching him, and when he saw him look up, turned again and darted into the brush. Edgeworth could see how desperately he was running now. _Not this time,_ Edgeworth realized, taking off after him again.

And it didn't take long. Once moment he was running, and the next Wright had fallen to the ground with a terrible thud. Edgeworth caught up to him, moderately winded, as Wright tried to scramble up.

"Stay right there!" Prosecutor Edgeworth shouted in a harsh, entirely too loud voice he didn't recognize. Wright obeyed, adjusting slowly to sit up, and raising his bloodied and shaking hands as he did.

Edgeworth checked him over for weapons like he'd seen Gumshoe do countless times before, and found nothing. The stench of a fire pit clung to Wright's clothes, and a scrape on his cheek under his eye was already bleeding. Edgeworth crouched down to eye level to look at his face and turned on his flashlight. Wright stared back, eyes bright and unfocused and the same brown from their childhood. His breath wheezed in the air between them. For a handful of moments, Wright tried to focus on Edgeworth's face and struggled to breathe.

"Are you Phoenix Wright?" Edgeworth asked, his voice taut.

Wright nodded, slowly lowering his hands. Edgeworth let him. They braced against the damp earth, fingers splayed and digging into the ground in a way Miles had done many times himself. _He's dizzy._

"What were you doing at the campsite?"

"I—I was—I ne—" Wright pressed out the syllables between his gasping breaths. Blood dripped steadily from his face onto his windbreaker. "I'm n—"

"For God's sake," Edgeworth snapped. "Take deep breaths. Breathe deeper. Slowly."

Wright did, gulping lungfuls of air, staring up at Edgeworth as his eyes came slowly to focus. Edgeworth couldn't seem to look away.

Wright had of course changed over the last 20 years, but the person Edgeworth had known remained utterly recognizable, even now in the dark dusk, bloodied and dirty from his encounter with the wilderness floor. He watched the panic in those brown eyes form into more rational fear as Wright's grasp of the situation returned.

When Wright could finally breathe again, Edgeworth shifted from his crouch to kneel across from him, pointing the flashlight in between them. Wright stared blurrily at him, studying his face just as Edgeworth had done to him. Edgeworth's mind worked despite its blankness, trying to think of something to say. Eventually, Wright looked away and down as his own right hand. He began to lift his hand to touch the cut on his opposite cheek.

Edgeworth slapped his hand away with a sudden viciousness. Wright gasped in pain. "Keep your hands on the ground from now on," the prosecutor ordered, finally breaking the silence. He began to pull the radio from his coat pocket, but kept the light trained on Wright and watched him. The other man's eyes wandered up along Edgeworth's coat to his suit beneath, to the flashlight clenched in his pale hand and the radio in the other, along the collar of his coat and his face, and finally to his eyes once more.

"I recognize you now. I know you," Wright said, voice buckling in his torn up throat but his eyes burning with a clarity that made Edgeworth's mouth go dry. Wright said, "I am going to give you another life."


	3. look at the fire and think of me

The last three months of Prosecutor Edgeworth's work did not go to waste. When Wright— _the suspect_ —refused to tell him the method of the burning, Prosecutor Edgeworth simply moved on to his next task in hopes of breaking his resistance. Over two weeks, for six hours each day, he questioned Wright on the identities of the people he had burned. With prompting of the date and crime scene and other details, Wright was able to remember features of the victims and select them from missing persons photos.

Edgeworth had never met a criminal quite like Wright. Seeing him recall each incident was like watching him struggle to remember a nightmare which had long sunk into the black depths of his unconscious. Raising each memory out of its resting place brought a curious range of emotion to the suspect that he'd never seen in other suspects—shame, horror, helpless rage, and an abject despair. Each session was grueling for both of them, and every day at 4 p.m. he would leave Wright sitting in the interview room trembling, his left hand clamped tightly against his body under his elbow.

Once that punishing task had been completed, Edgeworth started again with photos of the remains and stills captured from the video. As his last resort, Prosecutor Edgeworth played the video of the suspect's 23rd victim. Wright squeezed his eyes shut tight, deeply shaken, but did not say a word.

/

The judge dropped the case at the preliminary hearing.

"Prosecutor, I admire the time and effort you have put into this case. While the eyewitness accounts from both you and your colleagues are strong, and the video evidence is compelling, I cannot ignore the fact that you have yet to produce for the court the smallest piece of physical evidence or a weapon for the acts of murder. Were there some evidence you could show the court aside from…lightning bolts from the defendant's hand, we would certainly be in trial already. But as this stands…" The judge shook her head.

"Your Honor, please," Prosecutor Edgeworth spoke up. He could feel the planet-heavy weight of 24 lives— _24 failures_ , his mentor's voice whispered—settling on his shoulders. "Look at the facts we _do_ have. The defendant could identify all the victims from a lineup. Three LAPD detectives and I witnessed him kill his most recent victim and our accounts all match. I humbly request that the court reconsider its decision."

The judge glanced over the case file, shaking her head, and shut it. "The court overrules your request. I have thought long and hard about this matter. Bring some evidence and proof next time, Prosecutor Edgeworth."

/

Mia arrived to Wright's release exactly on time. She signed the documents and handed back the clipboard under the bulletproof window, and when she turned to Wright she held her arms out to him. Though Wright was taller and had never imagined he'd ever get the chance, he hugged his boss as tightly as he dared, as if she were a stable fixture in an earthquake. She was strong, rooted, and impossible to knock out of balance. Wright leaned against her, shaking like a leaf.

"Shh, Phoenix, oh, Phoenix. It's over now, you're okay."

"I'm not…" he said, voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm not—I'm still, still a mon—"

Mia pressed his trembling shoulders closer. "Shh, it's all right. It's okay. Okay. Let's go back to the office, all right?"

Phoenix nodded against her shoulder. They separated, and he nodded again. He could smell the old ashes and damp soil on his jacket has they walked out into fresh air, and couldn't help but notice he had smudged the black and white of Mia's clothing. Mia walked on confidently, as if nothing were amiss, all the way back to Fey & Co. Phoenix trailed behind her, suddenly delirious and exhausted by the sunlight.

Once they got inside, Phoenix changed into a set of spare clothes he kept at the office for this exact purpose. When he came to the main office, Mia had made his favorite tea, and passed him a mug. They sat on the couch.

"Thank you," he said, letting the cup warm his hands.

"Of course," said Mia softly. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Mia let him cry for as long as he had to.

/

Three weeks after his release, Phoenix was back up to speed with his life, though each day left him tired enough to fall asleep at 8 p.m. _You'll build up to it again,_ Mia told him, lightly squeezing his shoulder. _You always do. It'll take time first._

 _I believe her,_ Phoenix thought, _but I wish it didn't feel so bad in the meantime._ He read blearily through some of Mia's document drafts over canned soup at his apartment. _I've got to listen to her. She knows about me, sometimes better than I know about it myself. And I can never seem to find any mistakes in her documents._

He was scraping the bottom of the bowl when his cell phone began to ring. After marking his place with a pencil, Phoenix scooped up the phone from his work bag. It was an unknown number. He answered.

"Hello?"

"Wright, if you breathe a word of this call to anyone, I'll make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?" The voice—Edgeworth's, of course—was tight and flat.

Phoenix felt his face blanch. "I…yes."

"I know you did it," Edgeworth continued. "I _know_ what I saw with my own eyes. But…"

A bitter, curdling sensation twisted Phoenix's gut. He had imagined the first time they would reunite, or email, or talk on the phone, many times over the years and the dark, lonely hours and when writing the tentative correspondence he had sent his childhood friend. _And now…it's like this._

He turned and leaned against the back of the couch, feeling gutted. "So, you have to know. You called me because you have to know."

The line was silent.

Phoenix took a shaky breath. "I know better than to claim I was involved I the deaths of these people in front of you. But I will tell you what happens to me. Take it or leave it, whether it makes any sense to you or not. I don't expect you to believe me.

"I'll be doing anything, or nothing in particular. There's no way to predict it, nothing that brings it on." His voice took on a steady, dreamlike quality. "But I'll notice a heat in my body. Like a fever. As the hours pass, it grows hotter, into a burning, until it feels like I should be boiling alive where I stand." He paused. "That's when I start to have these thoughts and feelings. Ideas, and knowledge, some certainties I never hold in my daily life."

"What are they?" Edgeworth said into his silence.

"That…" He laid a hand over his eyes, breath hitching. "You'll never believe me. You don't want to know, Edgeworth. Just accept that there's no explanation and—"

"I can't. Everything has an explanation. I've seen too much in my profession to believe otherwise. And I've known enough liars, as well."

"I've only told one person in the world." He chuckled, bleak. "Of course you would find out. Of course you would find out my secret. When we were kids, it was—"

"Stop." Edgeworth interrupted. "Who else knows?"

"I won't tell you that either." Phoenix sat on the floor and leaned against the back of the couch.

"Then what can you tell me, Wright? What is it that causes the burning?"

"It's…I…" He closed his eyes and hunched over his lap. "I'm a phoenix."

In the quiet that followed, Phoenix's right elbow pressed tighter against his left hand tucked at his waist.

"Wright…" said Edgeworth, slowly.

"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not," repeated Phoenix, low and desperate. "The power hides inside me, sometimes strong and sometimes small. But when it rises it burns high and fast, and I begin to think that…I should use it. It draws me toward places, to strangers, to people, and then, it tells me that I am going to give them a rebirth. And…" His voice caught in his throat, but he swallowed and went on. "And I do. After their body is gone, their soul…it's free. It's free to be reborn. It feels so good, for a while. But then…I open my eyes."

Tears squeezed out from under his tightly shut eyes. "I don't want to kill people. I don't want to save them by killing them. But that's what the power in me knows to be true. I believe it, until I open my eyes." He took a shaky breath.

"After the power first rose in high school, I knew I had to try anything I could to make it stop. For most of my life I hid from others and from helping anyone. But I slowly realized that when I did decide to help, I was in control of the power. When I used it that way, the power was good and right, even when I was not using it. When I am in control of the power, it can't hurt anyone, but it can still save them. When I helped people pro bono in law school or gave legal advice, or even if I just listened when they had no one else to turn to, it would use my power enough that I wouldn't feel the burning. I can live in control of my life. I can control this power, but that doesn't change things. I'm still…this power, a phoenix. I'm not a human. I'm a monster."

Phoenix kept his eyes shut, dreading with every part of his body what Edgeworth would say next.

"When we met in Griffith Park," Edgeworth said, his voice unruffled, "you told me that you would give me another life. Was that a threat against a public official?"

Phoenix's breath hitched. "Of _course_ not," he said, softly. "It…" The subtle, gentle heat rose in his stomach, strengthening him, supporting him, clearing his vision. "It was a promise."

"Excuse me?"

"This power of the phoenix lets me see more than you can imagine, but I don't need it to see you. I can see how you are, but I know who you really are. I am going to save you."

Miles swallowed tightly, and the words he threw were as sharp as stones. "I don't need your help, and I don't need you. You've sent letters and cards and emails to a person that doesn't exist anymore. I left that life behind long ago. You don't know the first thing about me anymore. If you dare show your face in front of me again, I'll use every last trick and tactic I know to see you've found guilty of _every_ first-degree murder you've committed. You won't be able to help anyone from death row. Don't ever cross my path again."

"No, Edgeworth, I—"

Edgeworth ended the call.

For all the divine fire in Phoenix's heart, there were also so many tears.


	4. you be the moon i'll be the earth

Then, of course, Phoenix did save him.

The phoenix's power was never wrong, but it did take some work.

 _How can I let a killer defend a killer?_ Edgeworth had snapped, proud and despairing behind the shatterproof plastic of the visitor's room. _Don't disgrace me any further. Get out of my sight._

 _Nick,_ Maya had whispered, _he really means it. Maybe we should leave him alone._

 _I won't,_ Phoenix had responded. He sat up straight and lifted his head. _Let me help you. I know deep inside that you didn't do it. I was given this power for a reason. I can save you._

Miles Edgeworth looked into his face, and saw the same clear brown eyes he'd seen when Phoenix had told him his promise in the dark forest, months ago.

/

Many years since, when Phoenix did not hide his left hand anymore, he and Miles sat in the prosecutor's office, drafting and reworking new rules of criminal procedure. Miles looked over to Phoenix, and couldn't help but realize he read as diligently now at 3 a.m. as he had when they'd sat down at 11 a.m. sixteen hours before.

The words Miles read had begun to bounce off his brain fifteen minutes ago, and by now he was wise enough to know when to stop. He arranged the papers and files on his desk, and walked around to where Phoenix sat on the floor, surrounded by a semicircle of papers and file folders of his own. Miles picked his way toward him, and knelt down next to him.

"Hi," Phoenix greeted, looking up with a quick grin. "Ready to call it a night? Er, morning?"

"Yes," Miles sighed. He looked over the tops of his glasses to the papers Phoenix was holding. "Still in challenges for cause?"

Phoenix nodded, and set the page down. "But I'm ready for bed," he said, and yawned.

Miles fought back a yawn of his own as he stood, and offered a hand to help Phoenix stand. Phoenix took it, with his left hand, and clambered to his feet. A thought occurred to Miles, but he waited until Phoenix had arranged his notes and organized the documents for the night.

"Phoenix, I…I just had a realization," he said as they turned off the lamps in the office.

"Oh God, not related to requests for admission again, right?" joked Phoenix, shutting the curtains.

"No, no." Miles responded with a small grin. "It was about this," he said, gesturing around the office to encompass all their work.

"Oh, I see," said Phoenix, interest piqued. He walked back across the room and followed Miles out. "What is it?" he asked, watching Miles lock the door.

"You know how I worry over this work we're doing," he said. "I know that what we're planning is top-notch, but I worry that it will be ineffective or just as corruptible, once implemented in the real world."

Phoenix nodded, and as customary for their late-night brainstorming sessions, started toward the stairwell door.

"Wait," said Miles. Phoenix came back, grinning sheepishly. "You're not personally handling any clients, right? You haven't taken any clients since we've started."

"Nope, none. I've been focusing on the kiddos and our reforms instead."

"And your powers haven't risen?"

Phoenix thought a few moments. "No, I haven't felt much. Nothing, actually." Realization brightened his face. "Miles!"

A tired grin spread over Prosecutor Edgeworth's face. "It's working. We're helping people. It's going to work."

Phoenix whooped, a testament to the energy he always had on hand. Miles laughed. Many smothering griefs and devoted bonfires had passed between them to lead up to this moment. Phoenix and Miles hugged with a natural ease. Miles felt the feverish warmth of his partner hot against his skin, but it was not something he was afraid of anymore.

They parted, and looked at each other. Phoenix practically shone with happiness. "Miles, this is incredible! How could I have not seen it before?"

Miles' grey eyes held their own rich joy. "You were too close to it to see, I imagine. But it's the truth."


End file.
